


Instant Husband

by SkyeBlu1218



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, there is now smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeBlu1218/pseuds/SkyeBlu1218
Summary: Erik is the doting father of a rambunctious son named Pietro, but after having a bit of a violent outburst on Charles' behalf, Child Protective Services become involved and tell Erik that he can only keep custody of Pietro under the condition that Erik has a legal co-parent, and that means he needs a spouse, fast. Charles is just the professor for the job.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be awful fun! Tell me what you think, will ya?

" _Vati, Vati!"_ Pietro was chanting, giggling as Erik pushed him on the swing set. Erik was smiling, too; he always grinned when Pietro laughed like that, he just couldn't stop it if he tried, and Charles loved to tease him about it. _Look at the proud papa_ , he would coo, and Erik would halfheartedly growl about ripping a page or two out of one of his precious books.

"Careful, Erik, he's approaching the stratosphere, I think," Charles laughed, and the sound translated to white puffy clouds in the crisp autumn air.

"Higher!" Pietro commanded, though, and the laughter trilled onwards.

"Thanks for visiting with us," Erik said to Charles, flashing him the grin he was wearing. "Pietro loves seeing you, and it's really helping him settle in with the new move and everything." The new job had meant leaving the old house and school behind, but bribing Pietro with an extended stay from Charles had turned the move into a piece of cake. Erik didn't typically like relying on anyone else to help with Pietro, but Charles was so nurturing and kind. He never hesitated to accept his assistance. It made Pietro smile, and that was all he wanted. Well. Maybe not everything. More and more often, he daydreamed of giving Pietro more than a part time secondary parental figure. If he was completely honest with himself, he wanted a spouse. And he had an idea of who he wanted to marry.

"I hope he's not the only one who's glad of my company," Charles replied, mockingly offended. "Though I must admit my bedtime stories _are_ quite stellar."

"Charles, I swear—"

"Vati!" Pietro exclaimed, cutting off his vow. "Can Charles stay again tonight? I want him to make us spaghetti!"

"Don't be rude, Pietro," Erik said, but Charles didn't seem to mind the request, and Erik wondered if he imagined the way his cheeks pinkened slightly.

"I'll stay if your Daddy doesn't mind," he called, and Pietro practically flung himself from his swing (the both of them gasped and stared forward a bit) to dash around and grab his father's coat front, peering excitedly up at him, his eyes wide and imploring.

"Please, Vati! I'll be good!" he promised, the picture of angelic innocence. 

"Good," Erik said solemnly, gazing at his son fondly, "because if you aren't, I'll be forced to put Charles in the pantry."

"Your father underestimates my ability to bake everything in the general vicinity," Charles informed the boy, equally solemn. "We will see who wins in that particular battle of wills."

" _Yaaay_!" Pietro squealed, launching himself at Charles's waist. Charles caught him, laughing anew.

"What if," Charles stage whispered conspiratorially to Pietro, "we put peppers in Daddy's spaghetti?"

"I hear the pantry is _lovely_ this time of year," Erik said loudly, grabbing both their hands so he could hail a cab, grinning like a fool. _These two will be the death of me yet,_ he thought. 


	2. Mischief at Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homey fluff before we get into next chapter's troubles

Charles looked delicious when he was cooking, and Erik was rather unabashed about staring at him while he did. It was that damn _apron_. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate when he was wearing that lace-edged _thing_ , putting that spoon of tomato sauce to Erik's lips and demanding he taste it? Pietro also had an unfortunate habit of running up behind Charles and attaching himself to his waist. Seriously, where was he supposed to look?

"What's that look for?" Charles asked, his tone teasing as he caught Erik staring.

"I—" he fished in his head, pulling out the first thing that came to mind. "Do you think Pietro will be okay switching schools like this?" Charles's smile softened, and he smoothed the boy's hair almost maternally.

"Of course he will, I'm going to be one of his teachers. I'll keep an eye on him, I promise. And if he misbehaves _I'll eat him all up!_ " he exclaimed, directing the last of it at Pietro, who screamed and dashed from the room, giggling madly. He ran to the partially unpacked living room, grabbing his favorite toy truck to rev across the floor.

"Thank you, Charles," he murmured sincerely, and Charles ducked his head, embarrassed. Damn his porcelain complexion for betraying every slight little blush.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," he said, flicking a bit of sauce at Erik. "I plan on giving him all sorts of books that you will be forced to read to him far later than bedtime."

"I am both warmed and affronted," Erik stated, mockingly scandalized. He held out the collar of the red spattered sweater. "Do you know how much this cost?"

"And yet, it falls," Charles mused, "to a lowly splatter of smashed fruit."

"Oh, you are _terrible_ ," Erik muttered, moving into Charles's space without warning, trapping his against the counter. A laugh bubbled up in Charles's throat, and he moved to grab more sauce, but Erik grabbed his wrists with an exclamation of "Oh, no, you don't!" The excitement of the moment sparked a boldness in Erik, and he pulled Charles to his chest, reveling in his pinkened cheeks and his wide blue eyes, and—he couldn't help but notice from where his hand had settled on his hip—the slim curve of his body and how perfectly he fit pressed to Erik's chest.

The humor of the moment transitioned to something else, something different and not entirely unwelcome. Charles's bright blue eyes locked with Erik's steel grey ones, and he bit his lip, thinking of Erik's lips and his hand, resting one temptatious hand on Charles's waist, the other still rather firmly gripping his pale wrist. Charles was finding that his breath was coming a bit short at the moment. Erik's gaze drifted to Charles's mouth, his much too cherry-red lips, and he took a breath.

"Charles. . . ." Erik murmured, sending an electric shock through him.

_"Spaghetti!"_ Pietro yelled, interrupting the moment. Charles laughed quietly, ducking his head into Erik's neck while Erik murmured a curse.

"Pick this up later?" he asked hopefully, tilting up Charles's chin. Charles smiled shyly and nodded once before turning to wrangle Pietro, leaving Erik to quietly celebrate.

\-----------------x-----‐-----------

After Pietro had been successfully fed and bathed, his bedtime story read to him (twice, in fact, and it might have been a third if Erik hadn't intervened and insisted two times was enough), the pair regrouped to the living room, sitting on the carpeted floor, sharing a bottle of wine. Erik wasn't entirely certain how to bring up the almost-kiss, but he was hardly going to let Charles think he was going to dismiss it. Charles had an unfortunate habit of assuming he was undeserving of attention like this, or that people simply weren't interested, and that was very much _not_ the case.

"So that was one lesson plan entirely out the window," Charles continued, babbling a bit. Alcohol had a tendency to loosen him up on the tongue, but he hadn't had that much so Erik knew it was partially due to nerves.

"Charles—would you mind if I kissed you?" he asked suddenly, startling the both of them. A smile bloomed on Charles's lips.

"Not at all," he murmured, which was plenty enough for Erik. He leaned forward, glancing from Charles's lips to his eyes, putting a gentle hand to his cheek. There was a breath of hesitation before their lips met, a moment where Erik savored the possibility of it, and then neither could resist the other any longer, and they crashed into each other. What was meant to be a chaste kiss, perhaps a declaration of interest, immediately morphed into a entanglement of limbs and collision of lips, exploratory hands and breathless panting. Erik was grappling at the smell of Charles's back, pulling him as close as he could possibly be, twisting the other hand into his chocolate curls as he explored his mouth, adrenaline coursing through his blood. There was an irrepressible instinct taking over; he grabbed Charles's wrists (much like before, but now—now Charles was breathless and blushing beneath him), pressing them to the floor on either side of his head.

_"Mine,"_ he growled, gently taking Charles's plump lower lip between his teeth.

"I—I really think—perhaps, um— _Christ_ ," Charles moaned as Erik grabbed his thigh, immodestly sucking, none too gently, on the sensitive skin of the crook of his neck. _I'm going to have a hickey,_ Charles thought distantly, but couldn't bring himself to remember, or care, what he was protesting for. Erik, however, seemed to come to his senses, pulling back a breadth, his lips just brushing Charles's skin in a way that made him shiver. _Mine_ , Erik had said. Charles's entire body buzzed at the contact.

"I'm—sorry. That was rash of me," he apologized, but neither of them moved, merely breathing in each other's company.

"Erik, why have we never. . .?"

"I haven't a clue," Erik breathed. "And I didn't mean to be so—forward, but—Charles, will you go out with me this weekend? We can bring Pietro along or hire a babysitter—"

"Yes," Charles laughed, nodding emphatically. "Yes, of course, I would love to go out with you."

"Great," Erik beamed, tracing the contour of Charles's cheekbone with his index finger. "I can't wait." Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's neck, grinning just a bit mischievously.

"Now, before I sober up enough to be embarrassed of myself, would you mind—?"

"With pleasure," Erik smirked, reconnecting their lips with fervor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come ;3


	3. Ouch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of Sir Asshat, the lovable Logan Howlett

The dismissal bell rang with a shrill cry, sending the kids into a flurry of motion and chatter. They dashed almost as one in a wave of colorful t-shirts and backpacks, freed for the evening to do as they pleased.

"Don't forget, I want you to read the first four pages of chapter 16 for the quiz tomorrow!" Charles yelled, amused at the groans of some of the more stubborn students.

"I already read those pages, Mr. Charles!" Pietro announced, hugging Charles's legs. "Can we have Goldfish? When is Vati coming to get us?"

"Sure, honey, they're in the supply closet. Your daddy will be here in about fifteen minutes. He's caught up in traffic for a moment, but he's coming."

"Okay!" Pietro yelled, dashing for the closet with a rallying cry of _"Snacks!"_. His impromptu exit was followed by a small crash, and Charles jumped, stifling a laugh. 

"Pietro, are you okay, honey?" he called, starting forward to check on him, but he stopped when a calloused hand closed around his wrist.

  
"Logan?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Hey, Charlie," Logan smirked. "Got a minute?"  


Logan Howlett was the school gym teacher and also the assistant principal. The children were terrified of him, so he was an excellent disciplinary figure, and it was rumored that he'd slept with all four student teachers and at least three of the permanent staff (though no one was stepping up to refute or confirm the story). And he _was_ rather handsome, in a rugged, flannel wearing sort of way, and it was easy to imagine him coaxing more than a few people into his bed with those broad shoulders and his lazy, crooked grin. Unbeknownst to Charles, Logan had made him his next conquest, and there was a running bet on if he would succeed, when, and what would happen after. Most of the teachers were surprised at how oblivious Charles seemed to Logan's flirting and constant leering. Any of them would have given their right hands to be in his place, but he returned Logan's flirting with mild politeness and the occasional smile of necessity.

  
"Um, actually, I'm watching a student right now," Charles replied, gesturing to the closet, where an abundance of loud shuffling was taking place. He cast the closet an amused glance. Logan still hadn't released his wrist, and he pulled him a little closer, making Charles stumble into his chest with a startled yelp.

  
"Logan, what are you—" he spluttered, blushing lightly.

  
"Sorry, Charles. But, while I have ya—" He grinned, displaying impressively sharp incisors. "—has anyone ever told you you're awful pretty?"  


"I'm sorry?" He tugged at Logan's grip on his wrist, gaining nothing but a slightly painful squeeze. The spice of Logan's cologne pricked Charles's nose, making him feel a bit dizzy.

  
"I've been meaning to talk to you, Charles, but you always seem to slip away," Logan murmured, still grinning. His lowered voice was a rumble in Charles's chest, stirring up an unexpected feeling of fear.

  
"Logan, I have a _student_ ," Charles hissed, lowering his voice in turn, growing both afraid and frustrated.

  
"He's occupied," Logan replied dismissively, taking Charles's chin. "And I want to talk. I want to talk about you and me."

  
"You and I are co-workers," Charles objected, yanking again on his wrist. "Let me _go_."

  
"I don't think you're listening to me," Logan murmured, and Charles gasped as he was suddenly pushed up against a wall, his back hitting the blue painted bricks hard enough to knock the breath from his chest, effectively dazing him enough that he didn't struggle when Logan moved into his space, gasping for air as he pinned his wrists to the wall.  
The next series of events happened so quickly that Charles was barely able to process it. First, Pietro wandered back out of the supply closet, his cheeks covered in— what was that, glitter glue? Erik entered the room at the exact same time, took stock of Charles's and Logan's position and the look of panic in Charles's eyes, and grabbed Logan's shoulder, wrenching him off of him so hard he crashed into several desks and toppled them with careening crashes.  
Logan sat up, staring at Erik with a feral grin.

  
_"Charlie,"_ he purred, clambering to his feet, wiping a smear of blood from his nose. "You didn't mention a boyfriend for me to pummel."

  
"Pietro," Erik said calmly, "go stand in the hall and wait for Vati, okay?" Only someone who knew him very well could see the rage boiling under the surface, threatening to break through his glass facade. 

  
"Okay," Pietro agreed, obediently making off with his packet of Goldfish.

  
"Logan, Erik, please," Charles slurred, moving between the two of them, swaying on his feet. _Maybe I hit that wall harder than I thought_ , he mused.

"Charles, honey, why don't you go sit with Pietro for a moment? Your associate and I need to have a word."

  
"I don't think many words will be necessary, Pretty Boy," Logan growled, his grin becoming more of a snarl.

  
_"Stop it!"_ Charles insisted, but then Logan grabbed his wrist a third time and Erik snapped, launching himself at Logan like a missile of concentrated rage.  
Charles _hated_ violence, hated it with a passion, but fortunately, he didn't have to watch too much of it because when Erik collided with Logan he hit the ground, hard, and his vision went black.


	4. Will You Marry Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik needs a waifu :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should inform you guys that the procedure here is not accurate to actual CPS proceedings. I myself am adopted and was in the foster system, so I dont mean to give CPS a bad lighting. Just for disclaimer's sake, don't take anything too seriously.

Erik sat across from the woman in the white pumps, annoyed, completely aware of how he looked: cool, collected, and probably a tad insubordinate with his split lip and his half kidded eyes. His hands, split and bloodied at the knuckles, were folded primly on the hospital table. Thinking of the reason why they were in this hospital made his rage flare up all over again, but he squashed it for appearance's sake.

"Mr. Lensherr," the woman greeted him, smiling politely. "My name is Emma Frost. I've reviewed the police's statement, and CPS has decided to take interventional action."

_"Verdammt,"_ Erik hissed, rubbing his face. _If the stress of this doesn't kill me, Charles will,_ he thought. The woman leaned forward, steepling her fingers and removing her white cat-eye framed glasses. In fact, all she wore was white. Like a strange, solemn looking bride.

"Listen," she said, appearing to be just as stressed as he was. "I've personally reviewed your case, Mr. Lensherr, and if it makes you feel any better, I understand your reasoning and I know that you were at least partially admissible in your actions." Erik quirked an eyebrow.

"Partially?" he murmured, a mite grimly amused.

"Yes, Mr. Lensherr, _partially_ , because while I understand the desire to defend your _sweetheart_ , I certainly don't think aggravated assault with an entire desk was necessary to get your point across. Agreed? Now, the proposition is this: without my involvement, you and your son would be facing probable temporary separation. But I have taken pity on you, lucky thing, so the deal is, you get yourself a legal co-guardian, and CPS gets off your back."

"A co-guardian, what does that mean?" Erik asked, leaning forward. He didn't like the sound of this, but if it meant avoiding trouble and keeping Pietro away from this then he would do it in a heartbeat.

"It means you need one of two things," Frost said, crossing her legs, smoothing her skirt. "Acceptance of separation from your boy—or a spouse, and you have to make up your mind, fast." Erik blanched.

"You want me to get— _married_?"

"I'm not asking you for a bachelor party and a ceremony, Lensherr. Just get someone to sign a document and show up in court when you have to make your appearance." He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Okay. Okay, fine. When do I have to have it done?"

"Soon," Frost replied shortly, standing up and collecting her files. "Within two days. Call me when it's official. And congrats in advance." She sashayed from the room without a backward glance, having said her piece, leaving Erik to simmer in his thoughts.

Charles. . .he wasn't even sure if he was awake yet, and now, now he'd have to ask him to do this. He suppressed a hysterical laugh. Hadn't this been exactly what he wanted? Had he not thought of exactly this not a day ago? But God, it was so much to ask of someone. _But he'll say yes,_ Erik thought, resigned. _Because he's Charles, and he won't want me to lose Pietro, not even temporarily. And maybe—maybe it won't have to end, maybe I can convince him to stay married to me, maybe I'll make him fall in love with me, maybe, maybe, maybe. . . ._ He stood abruptly, having made his decision. 

\----------x----------

Charles's head felt funny, but he did his best to stifle the feeling because the more he convinced the damn nurses that he did not, in fact, need to be coddled like a toddler, the sooner they would stop hovering. Truthfully, he was more concerned for Pietro than the headache that was threatening to split his forehead. He shouldn't have had to see any of that, and Erik shouldn't have had to _do_ that, and God, he wished he could wake up from this nightmare.

But for now, Pietro was tucked into his side, napping with his little face buried in Charles's cardigan, and they were both okay. The nurses both looked up as the door clicked and Erik slipped inside, an apologetic look on his face. He looked heartbreakingly handsome, even with his lip split like that and a shadow of a bruise blooming on his jaw. To tell the truth, he looked like some rebellious teenager who probably smoked more than he ought to, a _bad boy_.

_I am being utterly ridiculous,_ he thought, glad that he'd not dained it necessary to say the thought out loud.

"How is he?" Erik asked the nurses, turning his charming smile on them. He knew better than to ask Charles—he would just lie and say he was fine to keep Erik from worrying about him. Charles pouted inwardly at being outmaneuvered. Erik must have noticed his disappointment because he shot him a knowing wink.

"He's okay," the younger nurse replied. "His wrists are bruised and he has a twisted ankle, so don't let him be overly mobile. We thought he might have a concussion, but he's just a little sore. He'll be alright." "Thanks," Erik replied, stepping aside to let the pair of them leave. He hesitated in the door, looking at Charles.

_Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?_ he thought, crossing his arms. He wanted to memorize the vision of his mussed hair, his soft blue eyes, and the nearly maternal way he held Pietro on the gurney.

"You're really alright?" he asked quietly, frowning in concern.

"Erik, I'm fine," Charles insisted, just as he'd known he would. "This is honestly way too much. What about you? Has anyone looked at you?" Erik waved his concern away dismissively, taking a seat by the gurney, then taking Charles's hand. He stared at the mottled, finger shaped bruises that decorated his wrist and an emotion he couldn't immediately name bubbled up in his chest, a strange mix of anger and possessiveness. _Jealousy_ , he realized. The bruises bothered him not only because someone had hurt Charles, put their _hands on him,_ but because he wanted to be the one to put them there, under similar—but still somewhat different—circumstances.

"Charles," he murmured, glancing at him seriously. "I talked to the CPS worker. She told me what I have to do to keep Pietro with me."

"Okay, well, what is it, Erik? I'll help you if I need to, I prom—"

"Don't—promise me that. I need you to make your decision on your own, not out of obligation. Because I do need your help. Charles, I have to get married." Charles blinked. Married. _Erik_. Married. _Married?_ Oh. _Oh._ Oh, my God, he's asking me to marry him.

"Wh—what?" he stammered. His heart was beating rather irregularly, and his stomach seemed to be doing a gymnastic routine.

"I know," Erik sighed. "It's insane. But if I don't come up with someone to be my 'coparent' in two days then CPS will be taking Pietro from me, and you know I wouldn't spring anything like this on you if I didn't have any other choice." He stared into Charles's empathetic face, his steel grey eyes melting his heart. A smile typed with his sculpted lips. "I need you, Charles. Will you marry me?" Charles smiled back and said the only thing he could.

"Of course, Erik."

\---------x--------

On the ride home, both Charles and Pietro fell asleep, looking positively adorable bundled into each other, Pietro snuggled into Charles's lap like a cat and Charles with his face buried in Pietro's messy hair. Erik couldn't stop thinking of Charles's response, his cute little smile.

_Of course, Erik._

As if it only made sense that they were together. And it did—they had to do this—but he couldn't stop himself from reading into it if he wanted to. _I have a fiancé_ , he realized belatedly. _I have to get him a ring._ The car ride ended sooner than he thought it would, being lost in his head as he drove, and looking across at the sleeping pair, he didn't think he could summon the will to wake either of them up. Gently, he unbuckled Charles and scooped Pietro out of his lap, carrying him inside to settle him in his bed. He took more time, on his return trip to pick up Charles, sliding his arms beneath the crook of his knees and behind his back, easing him to his chest. The teacher was surprisingly light, warm and soft in his arms, and Erik forced himself to go inside before his standing in the cold to gawk at him caught them both their deaths. Lying Charles down in his bed and holding him to his chest, his head racing with the word _fiancé_ —it all felt better than anything he'd ever done in his life. Charles snuggled closer to Erik's chest, sighing quietly, and Erik kissed his forehead, his chest surging with affection. _God, I hope this never ends._


	5. This Holy Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the domestic fluff (and wooing) begin :3

Charles blinked awake, noting before anything else that he was awfully warm (but not uncomfortably so) and so comfortable it took genuine effort to rouse himself from his sleep. Dust motes floated in the morning sunshine beaming down on him from the window, illuminating—

_Oh._ Erik, asleep mere inches from him, lighting his angular features. His lashes fluttered in his sleep, shadowed against his cheeks, and a smile toyed with his lips, suggesting he dreamed of pleasant things. He was ridiculously handsome, and it took Charles a moment to remember why he was lying in bed with him in the first place: they were, in a technical way, engaged to be married. That was still something he needed more time to process. Erik's arm tightened where it lay around Charles's waist, and he exhaled in slight surprise as he was shifted even closer to Erik's face. Idly, he wondered what time it was, hoping Pietro would be asleep so he could lie here like this for as long as he could.

At the least, the headache he'd been nursing last night had faded. Not quite gone, but not nearly so debilitating as before, and therefore manageable. His wrist, though—that still hurt, and his ankle had yet to be tested, though he was confident that would also yield unsatisfactory results.

"Charles," Erik murmured, startling him from his self assessment. He was peering at him from beneath hooded lids, the soft smile now aimed at him, a note of concern mixed in.

"How do you feel?"

"I told you I'm alright," Charles assured him, his voice thick with sleep, and if he'd have had the energy he would have rolled his eyes. Neither of them mentioned the proximity between them, but Erik didn't seem to mind. In fact, he cupped Charles's chin and lifted it, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to the underside of his jaw, drawing a rosy blush to Charles's cheeks.

"There," he purred, running a thumb over his fiancé's lower lip. "I like that color on you." That, of course, deepened the blush and widened Erik's smile.

"Erik, do you think we should talk about—you know—?"

"I want you to be sure you're comfortable with this, Charles," Erik cut in, his gaze smoldering. "Because I am completely serious about it. After we're married, we _can_ get an annulment later, after everything is settled. But that isn't what I want." Charles blinked, his thoughts struggling to keep up with his heart and the meaning of Erik's declaration.

"You don't?" he repeated, pushing a stray curl put of his eye. Erik gave him a fond look and sat up, pulling Charles upright with him. _He looks breakable,_ Erik thought, gazing at him. _Like a doll._ And it was true that with those wide blue eyes, impossibly red lips and porcelain complexion, he did resemble a glass doll. Erik took his slim wrists, observing the bandages wrapping the bruised one. He wondered if they were necessary, or if Charles had requested them to avoid upsetting Pietro and reigniting Erik's temper.

"I think of you often," he admitted quietly, and though his voice was soft as a butterfly's wing it sent shivers down Charles's spine. "I think we were on the right path, with that date this weekend, but now things have been flung quite far ahead. But—I'm already certain of what I want, Charles." His gaze was now piercing, his grip firm in a way that hurt just a little but not enough that Charles minded. He didn't think he'd ever mind. His breath seemed to be coming rather short, which was a tad embarrassing, and Erik wasn't helping the problem, bringing him close to his chest so he could run a hand along his back, tracing the contour of his spine.

"Nothing would make me happier than if you would accept my proposal for something more than a means to end," he murmured in Charles's ear, burying his free hand in his thick auburn curls. His hand slipped beneath Charles's shirt, hitching his already erratic breath. The light pressure of his trailing fingers was intoxicating, and he found himself clutching tightly to Erik's shoulder, his bicep, trying furiously to get ahold of himself.

Was he really this touch starved? Had he no self control? He couldn't be considering an impromptu proposal just because Erik caressed him and said pretty please. But—it was _Erik_. Erik, whom he was maddeningly attracted to, Erik, who listened to every story about his students and never seemed to tire of his company; Erik, whom he had known for years. When it came to weaknesses, Erik was most certainly his, and that was a fact. But still— _still_. He couldn't just allow himself to make such a huge decision without seriously thinking about it. Yes. That was right. He needed to think. Something which was horribly difficult to do when Erik was destroying every semblance of composure he had left.

"I can't just. . ." he began, trying and failing to articulate what he was thinking.

"You don't have to make up your mind now," Erik replied sensibly, apprehending his concern. He pressed another kiss to Charles's neck, relishing the shiver he got in response, the heat that emanated from Charles's cheeks. "But I promise that I will be doing my best every day to convince you. You and I belong together, Charles Xavier. And if I have my way, your name will permanently be Charles Lensherr."

_Bloody hell, what have I gotten into now?_ Charles mentally moaned, mourning his sanity. It was that precise moment that Pietro chose to thunderously dash through the hallway, yelling about pancakes and quite successfully interrupting the moment. They both laughed, a bit breathless in each other's company, and Eril watched his husband-to-be disappear to make his _(their)_ son pancakes. Determination had always been an asset of Erik's, and right now, thinking of Charles's sweet smile and his bright, happy blue eyes, he possessed more of it than he ever had in his life. If it killed him, he would show Charles exactly how much he meant to him, and just why he should stay, and stay forever.

\---------x---------

_Honestly_ , Erik thought, watching Pietro make an absolute syrupy mess of himself, _this was bound to happen from the moment he said he wanted pancakes for breakfast._ His son was giggling as he consumed the sticky cakes, perfectly cooked up by none other than the lovely Xavier.

"Is there anything you can't cook?" Erik had asked, admiring him from the counter in all his sleep-ruffled, pantsless glory, and Charles had replied with a simple,

"Soufflé. Soufflé is the devil's food." _Perhaps_ , Erik mused, his eyes tracing the way Charles's shirt billowed loosely over his waist, accenting his lithe little legs and making him look even smaller and more boyish than he already was. _But the only sinful thing I want to eat right now is you._ And then he promptly wondered when he'd become so shamelessly indulgent to his own lust. Maybe he'd just never wanted anyone quite so badly.

_Yeah_ , he thought, staring at Charles's figure, what he could see of his hips through that loose button-down shirt. _That's definitely it._

"Raven is going to be watching Pietro while we go sign the marriage papers," Erik told him calmly, leaning across the counter in front of him.

"Aunt Raven?!" Pietro repeated, running up to counter with excitement. Besides Charles, Raven was one of Pietro's favorite people. He particularly liked, he had once confessed, that her yard was absolutely perfect for making mud pies, and she herself was something of a master chef, apparently.

"Yes, _liebling_ , you're going to Aunt Raven's. Charles and I have grown up things to do."

He chose that moment to look up at Charles and wink, turning him an adorable shade of vermillion, but Pietro didn't seem to notice; he was much too busy noisily celebrating.

"Alright, silly, go wash your hands and pack a bag for tonight," Erik instructed him, laughing quietly. "And don't forget your toothbrush!" he called after him.

"He's going to be away all night?"

Erik smirked in amusement, taking Charles's shoulder and leading him to the couch.

"Yes, well, when she found out that I was using the babysitting time to be with you, she all but insisted he stay for a week. I had to negotiate her down a bit. And don't worry, she doesn't know about the engagement. I will let you tell her in your own time." Charles marvelled at how easily Erik said those words, how effortlessly he could say things like _engaged_ and _fiancé_ , never once stumbling.

"Charles? Are you listening? Are you feeling alright?" He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Oh—yes. What were you saying?"

"That I ought to take a look at your ankle," Erik replied serenely, then simply picked his leg up by the calf and placed it in his lap, pushing Charles back at a slight angle.

_"Erik_ , _"_ he protested lightly, pulling back, but Erik's hands became vices, holding him in place.

"I'll not in good conscience have you walking around on an injured ankle," he dictated, arching one _'You're-not-winning-this-argument-Charles-Xavier'_ eyebrow. When Charles struggled again, he put a restraining hand on his upper thigh, flashing him a warning look even as Charles's treacherous cheeks colored deeply.

"If you don't allow me to do this," he threatened, "you'll leave me no choice but to carry you all day, and everyone on the subway will know you're my blushing bride."

Charles narrowed his eyes, swallowing several retorts, and then nodded curtly, grudgingly accepting his defeat. Erik set straight to his task, examining the ankle as if he had extensive knowledge of the matter. _Perhaps he does_ , Charles thought wearily. It would be a very Erik thing to do if he had decided to learn medical procedures just because he knew how clumsy Charles was, or in preparation for Pietro hurting himself.

_Though one is certainly more likely than the other,_ the teacher thought sourly. He disliked being reminded that he wasn't invulnerable. What did it matter if his ankle was sore? He _could_ walk, just _slower_. But those thoughts melted when Erik began to speak, pressing lightly on certain points on his leg.

"Human anatomy is actually very interesting," he said, his tone nonchalant but intentful as he slid his hands up Charles's bare calf, seemingly testing pressure points, shifting the leg to stretch the tendons, taking note of when he did and did not seem uncomfortable. "I'm sort of surprised I didn't go into medicine rather than law. You see—" Charles's breath faltered as he placed his hand on the underside of his thigh, pushing his leg nearly to his chest. "—people are so very complex. Each part is connected and responsive to something else. It's all very. . .intricate."

"What a poet," Charles quipped, but it fell short in his breathless tone. Did he imagine Erik's hand tighten on his thigh, or was Erik really looking at him like he wasn't sure they were about to be going anywhere? As usual, Pietro settled the matter by bursting into the room.

"I'm ready, Vati! Let's go see Aunt Raven!"

"Patience, Pietro, Charles still has to get dressed," Erik replied, ruffling the child's hair. Then he dropped Charles a wink. Not for the first time, he thought, _This man is going to be the death of me._

\--------x---------

"All we really need is a signature," the court clerk was saying, pushing a document across the desk to the pair, a chained pen clinking to the clipboard. "It's very simple, if you want it to be." Her tone was approving, matter-of-fact, like she was glad someone had finally decided to go the more sensible route of simply signing a marriage document rather than an expensive, boisterous occasion. And Charles knew that, at least for now, he was undecided on what he wanted, but still—this sort of felt like being cheated out of something. Erik took the clipboard, signing without hesitation, his signature a lovely looping handwriting that was at odds with his general no-nonsense demeanor. He dotted the 'i' with gusto, then handed the board to Charles and murmured to him,

"We can have a real ceremony later, if you want. I'd love to see you in white."

He really didn't miss anything, did he?

Charles blushed again ( _damn his complexion_ ) and signed the page, too, his own writing a small, precise cursive he reserved for official documents. His usual handwriting was a spiky print; parents often complained when he sent notes home with students that it was like reading old English. Having completed their task, they returned the paper and were off with an acknowledgement of congratulations from the clerk and the knowledge that, for better or worse, and perhaps permanently, they were married.

Erik took his hand as they stepped outside, and it felt perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not precisely sure this is the exact courthouse procedure, but that's not what y'all are here for anyway. Oh, heads up, lovelies, I plan on getting smutty next chapter. Drop a kudos or a comment, won'tcha?


	6. The Newlyweds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are settling into married life with a steamy first date. :3

Charles didn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew he was being nudged awake to the sensation of sinewy arms lifting him out of the cab and the heady scent of cedar cologne permeating his space.

"Erik?" he mumbled, his eyes fluttering in their effort to open. A resonant chuckle vibrated his transport's chest and Erik shifted his sleepy prize closer, a pleasurable mix of pride and satisfaction shooting like electric sparks beneath his skin. _Charles, all mine_ , his thoughts crowed, running rampant through his head as he so seldom let them do. _Mine to keep, to please, to love, to kiss. . . ._

"You woke up just in time, Sleeping Beauty," Erik murmured, flashing him a cheeky grin. "I'm just about to carry you through the threshold."

"You are ridiculous," Charles jibed, but his cheeks flushed nonetheless, and his responsive smile (dimples and all) didn't escape Erik's notice.

"I have a gift for you," Erik hummed, buzzing internally as he set Charles on the couch. He sat beside him, momentarily admiring the stray curl obscuring one of Charles's curious eyes. "It was my mother's." _His mother's?_ Charles wondered, sitting up on his elbow, leaning in to peer at the bundled bit of cloth Erik produced from his coat jacket. He exhaled softly when he unwrapped it, gazing at the delicate silver ring sitting in Erik's proffered palm. It was beautiful, intricately designed like woven vines converging to meet around a teardrop diamond. His first instinct was to refuse. How could he possibly accept something so _valuable_ , both monetarily and sediment-wise? But then, Erik was practically glowing, there was no way he could deny him. And they were _married_ after all; it would be strange not to wear a ring, wouldn't it? _Even if,_ the sensible part of him chimed in, _it's only a_ pretend _marriage._ So, with a slight hesitation, he nodded and offered Erik his hand for him to slip the elegant little band around his ring finger. It was a mildly dizzying sight. A week ago, if someone had told them he would be married in the next few days (and to Erik Lensherr, no less) he would have laughed in their faces. The whole ordeal, it was deliciously frightening. He really wasn't the type to take these kind of leaps, to do such risky things, but Erik needed him. And he would be lying if he said that he hadn't been swayed to accept the proposal by a dash of his own personal feelings.

"Charles? Remember when I asked you if you'd like to have a date?" Erik asked, peering at his husband from beneath hooded lids. Charles blushed despite his best efforts, nodding slightly. He remembered what they had done _before_ that, too, and the memory never failed to leave him cherry-red and slightly embarrassed. Also, that look Erik was giving him spelled trouble; he'd seen it much too often to think otherwise.

"You want to do it here? Tonight?" he asked, unconsciously twisting his new ring on his finger, as if he'd been wearing it so long it were already a part of him.

"Why not? I promised you a date, and a date you shall get. Go wash up, I know you like to shower in the evening." Charles could read between the lines. _You look a smidge overwhelmed. Go take a shower and come back to me when you're ready, okay?_ He smiled, leaned in to peck Erik on the cheek, and slipped off to the bedroom, thinking of the scent of cedar wood and the texture of Erik's silky chestnut hair.

\-----------------------x------------------------

Erik hummed to himself as he strode down the hallway, rehearsing what he would say to Charles when he rejoined him. He'd already made them dinner, his mother's favorite pelmeni recipe, and he'd been pacing long enough that he could no longer contain his nerves. 

_I’ll slip into the bedroom,_ he thought, _just long enough to make sure Charles hadn't fallen back asleep on the bed or something, and then I’ll go._

And no sooner than he had opened the door and peered inside did he lock eyes with Charles himself, standing with his curls plastered to his face, dripping onto his heat-flushed cheeks, his grandly oversized sweater the only garment concealing his figure. Charles’ blush, the one he was aware he hated so much, made itself at home, and in his eyes Erik could see mixed embarrassment, surprise, and–something else? Erik took one step closer, drawn to him as ever, his gaze dropping to Charles's bare legs, to the droplets sliding down his slick thighs. An unbidden groan of want escaped his chest. His hands clenched into fists by his sides to stop himself from snatching Charles to his chest and kissing him like he was starving, like Charles was something sweet to eat, something to devour. 

"I'm sorry," Erik choked, struggling to maintain his rapidly dwindling self control. This was not what he'd thought was going to happen. This was not supposed to happen. _God_ , Charles was going to think he was such a damn creep, no better than that Howlett idiot, taking what he wanted like some sort of animal. Charles must have noticed the look on his face, because he stepped forward too, placing his palm on Erik's chest. _His heart,_ Charles noted, slightly surprised, _it's beating just as fast as mine._ Uncertainty puckered the teacher’s lips, making him hesitate before he spoke, trying to find the right words to say. 

"Erik," Charles murmured, tilting his face up to Erik's. "Erik, kiss me." There was a silence, a pause for half a moment, and then Erik hesitated not a moment longer, crushing their lips together, gripping his body to him, and oh, was it perfect and so, so much and still not enough. Charles was intoxicatingly responsive, his breath hitching at Erik's every touch. He wrapped his arms around Erik's shoulders, urging him on with incomprehensible moans of encouragement. Swiftly enough to knock Charles's breath from him, Erik lifted him off the floor and slammed his back to the wall, deepening the kiss like he'd been born for it. _This_ , Charles thought, feeling rather like he was floating away, _this is so much different than anything I’ve felt before._ Erik’s lips, that enigmatic smirk, found his throat, and he began to kiss him, gently at first and then with teeth, making marks on his pale skin that shocked his heart, sending thrills through his body. Fabric rustled as Charles’ legs tightened around Erik’s waist, needing to be closer, to be one, just needing _Erik_. 

“Charles,” Erik murmured, exploring with his lips down to his collarbone, to that same sensitive spot he’d discovered days before, when the words _will you marry me_ would have been absolutely ridiculous. They were not ridiculous now, Erik thought smugly, not with Charles panting beneath his touch, squirming every moment to be nearer. The sound of his name on Erik’s lips was like molten flame, pouring over his skin, but with this flame came not pain but a burning passion. The word ought to have made him cringe. Passion? Was he in the business of writing terrible romance novels? But he could find no other word for it, and soon, he doubted he could find words at all. He was proven correct, and very swiftly, when Erik lifted him from the wall and put him on the bed. There was danger in his eyes, and Charles liked that very much. _My husband_ , he thought, his heartbeat in his ears as Erik slid his hands beneath his sweater, running his hand across his damp skin. _Heaven help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a comment, won'tcha?


	7. Draft

Charles’s breath left him in a rush as Erik pounced on top of him, attacking his throat with kisses desperate to taste his shower-slick skin. Charles gasped, hands bunched in Erik’s shirtfront. He burned, burned for more, wanted it right now. Rationality had made her brief appearance and now she was gone, the only thoughts left were reduced to _Erik, touch me, Erik, Erik._ Teeth sank softly into his pale neck, then harder, the pain a shock of sensation that sent a shiver down his spine. Shaky breath drew itself from Charles’s lips, and Erik moved his wandering lips from his throat to his ear, speaking in a husky murmur. 

“Do you like that?” Heat flooded Charles’s body. _Shit. Why does he do this to me?_ Erik hummed, amused by the response in Charles’s silence. Nimble fingers slid beneath his sweater, deftly finding and squeezing the curve of his ass, then pulling the small of his back with a sudden force that brought them together. 

“Would you like. . .this?” Erik purred, sliding those damnable hands elsewhere, but now he was pulling Charles’s legs, maneuvering his thighs to his chest, his ankles over broad shoulders, and _god_ was his body responsive to this. 

_You’re grinning like a fool,_ Erik thought, finding little to no room to care in his harried headspace. The only thoughts were of Charles, of the wide-eyed look in his eyes and the matched breathlessness between them. Suddenly the fact that they were both still clothed was incredibly annoying. With a grunt he yanked his own shirt off, popping several buttons loose in the process, the pants soon to follow. Charles’s sweater joined the rejects on the floor, and then they were bare before each other, each drinking the other in with unrivalled impatience. 

“What would you like me to do to you, Mr. Lensherr?” Erik murmured, tremendously enjoying the shudder that ran through his new husband’s body. “Tell me. I could kiss you. Or I could _touch_ you. . . .”

“ _Fuck_ me, Erik,” Charles moaned, arching his back from the mattress with an unconcealed whine of agitation. Desire ripped apart Erik’s intentions of teasing, and a growl broke free from his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he snatched lube from out of his bedside table, holding Charles’s chin as he slid two, then three lubed fingers into him. 

_“Ah,”_ Charles gasped, surprised but not displeased by the sudden entry. His body clenched around Erik’s fingers, unused to such treatment. He could not recall the last time he had been with someone, much less it feeling like this. “Erik, Erik, please-- _Ah_ \--” He seemed to melt under Erik’s touch as his fingers pushed in deeper, touching something that set off an entirely different heat in him. He moaned, burying his face in the hollow of Erik’s neck. 

Erik could feel himself throbbing from simply being pressed to Charles like this. His quickly-abandoned plan to tease was even faster abandoned when Charles began to pant “ _please, Erik, please,”_ erasing from his mind any capability to reason. Deliberately, he placed himself at Charles’s entrance, edging around his hole. 

“Say it again,” he said, one hand full of auburn curls, tilting his head backwards. Charles was thrilled in this helplessness but still blushed to blurt, “Please.” The thought was erased instantly, however, as Erik slid into him, knocking his breath loose. 

_“F-fuck. Erik.”_

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he breathed, pausing to release a husky groan. He shifted his hips ever so slightly to help Charles adjust, revelling in his shaking breath and quivering body, the feeling of being inside him. Intently, he took Charles’s hands, lacing their fingers together. “If you want me to stop, let go. If you want more, squeeze tighter. Understood?” Instead of speaking Charles exhaled and squeezed tightly on Erik’s fingers, hesitance replaced with desire. Erik needed no further instruction; he pushed into Charles as far as he could with a sharp thrust. 

Hot pleasure jerked through Charles, a wave of need, of Erik. His husband swallowed his moan in a consuming kiss as he began to pull back, then thrust forcefully, settling into a slow, torturous rhythm of intense pleasure. The kisses trailed to his collarbone, and Charles let his head fall to the mattress, baring his throat, moaning his pleasure. 

“ _Aaaah--”_

“Shit, Charles,” Erik hissed, taken off guard by the way he tightened around him, enveloped in the sensation of him and of being inside him. He moved faster, fast enough that the bed began to squeak in protest, that Charles’s hands squeezed even tighter on Erik’s even as he screamed his husband’s name. 

Words left them, and they were left with the rhythm of their bodies and the language of lovemaking as Erik gripped his lover’s hips and slammed into him, using the entirety of his strength to fuck him senseless, and still Charles squeezed tighter, stealing the breath from Erik until the both of them could no longer hold off and--

Hot pleasure rushed between the two of them like blood in one body. They lie still for a moment, not thinking, merely breathing, limp on top of one another. 

After a moment, seemingly at the same time, they met each other’s eyes. They had the same thing to say, and they both knew it, so they smiled instead of speaking. 

_I love you._

_I love you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment, maybe? ;3

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, more to come.


End file.
